contests as inspiration

After a necessary hiatus, my contests column at The Write Place is back. I posted all NEW contests for your perusal (click the "contests" link on left).

Why consider contests?

1. Contests come with deadlines--which I've found many writers need. Yes, including me. Deadlines give us a date when we must complete a project and actually send it out by U.S. mail or submit online.

2. Contest topics can entice you to try a genre you haven't tried before. It's a good stretching exercise.

3. Topics also generate new ideas and/or subjects for you to explore as a writer.

4. If you win an award (even honorable mention), your confidence rises as does your potential credibility with editors and manuscript readers.

5. As you move from the category of honorable mention to third, second, and first place winner, use these markers of ability as a way to track your growth as writer and communicator. And revel in the boost these awards give your sense of confidence!

6. Monetary benefit. 'Nuff said.

7. Public recognition. Others begin to notice your name appearing on winners' lists, which widens your recognizability with readers and editors, creating connections with potential audiences for your future work.

Of course, beware the bad contests. This deserves a separate post, but in the meantime, read the excellent article by Victoria Strauss, "Warnings and Cautions for Writers--Contests and Vanity Anthologies."

And check out the writing contests at my site, updated bimonthly.

Two months of recovery...

Two months ago today, my city was submerged under 8 to 13 feet of flood waters that covered approximately 1,400 city blocks, or nearly 10 square miles. I took some new photos today that I will post soon. Read more at My News Muse.

The magic of numbers

It's Friday, August 8th, in the year 2008. Altough I normally deal in words, I had to take a moment to acknowledge that today, in numbers, it is 08/08/08. Cool!

Cedar Rapids, Iowa - Flood 2008

I've been busy the past two weeks with flood news on my other blog, My News Muse, and volunteering to help victims this past week, but I finally set up a flood news and photo site.

AP double standard

Trouble started last week when Rogers Cadenhead, proprietor of the Drudge Retort (not to be confused with the more well-known Drudge Report), posted on Friday that the AP had sent him not one, but seven take-down notices for article citations on AP news stories.

Yet the AP was caught Monday lifting entire sections for a story published June 16th but which first appeared on the blog Patterico's Pontifications. I checked the article and noticed the AP reporter gave credit to the blog, but the question remains: how much of a story can be used and still be considered "Fair Use"? And of course, the glaring irony also stands--the AP's heavy-handed stance against bloggers quoting from AP articles while the AP lifts larger sections from, well, bloggers.

The Los Angeles Times confirmed on Monday that the AP, in an attempt to quell the backlash from the blogosphere on this ironic twist in violation of copyright standards, said it will "sit down with representatives of a bloggers group Thursday to devise guidelines allowing Internet commentators to use excerpts from AP stories and broadcasts."

The New York Times put it this way: "The A.P.’s effort to impose . . . guidelines on the free-wheeling blogosphere, where extensive quoting and even copying of entire news articles is common, may offer a prominent definition of the important but vague doctrine of “fair use . . . .”

My mother always said to be careful when pointing the finger at someone--three fingers point back at you.

A museum for writers...

The First Amendment graces the front of the new 250,000 square-foot "Newseum" that opened April 11th, 2008 in Washington D.C. Check out the interactive floor-by-floor map created by USA Today--click here to take a peek.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Tolkien Trust sues New Line

Fans of Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" series will have to wait for Peter Jackson to direct "The Hobbit." Tolkien's estate was supposed to be paid 7.5 percent of gross receipts as specified in the movie contract with New Line. However, the plaintiffs claim they have only received an upfront payment of $62,500 for the three movies before production began--but nothing more since, although New Line and Time Warner, Inc. has raked in nearly $6 billion combined worldwide in profits. Selfish studios.

Why do writers get paid so little for their original work?

Winston Groom, author of "Forrest Gump," didn't receive a dime after he signed a contract for a share of the profits for the movie but his share was based on "net profits," rather than "gross points." Due to Hollywood accounting, he received nothing while his story turned into the third-highest-grossing film of all time.

Other films which became blockbusters yet paid writers next to nothing include Rain Man, Batman, JFK, and My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

This is just one reason writers went on strike earlier this past year led by the Writers Guild of America. Other issues included DVD sales and online viewings, new technologies or modes of delivery that writers had not anticipated for revenue streaming. The strike started November 5, 2007, and concluded on February 12, 2008.

Read your contracts carefully. "Net" means "nothing."

JK Rowling sues publisher

News in the publishing world about authors and Web site creators always concerns me. Here's a summary of the story appearing today at CNN.com:

"In papers filed for a lawsuit in Manhattan, J.K. Rowling says she feels betrayed by a fan, Steven Vander Ark, for his role in trying to publish an unauthorized reference work, Harry Potter Lexicon.

"Vander Ark is editor of a Web site containing a fan-created collection of essays and encyclopedic material on the Potter universe, including lists of spells and potions found in the books, a catalog of magical creatures and a who's who in the wizarding world."

At first (and setting aside the debate over the Harry Potter series), I thought J.K. Rowling has made enough money. She's the first billionaire author in the world. She shouldn't hurt this poor guy from making some money too.

But then I decided, he's not creating something original himself. He's creating something based on Rowling's original work.

Hmm. I'm concerned about derivative rights, which are reserved and protected for the author under copyright law. Here's what the law says:

"Only the owner of copyright in a work has the right to prepare, or to authorize someone else to create, a new version of that work."

He argues that his Web site is the only fan-based site for which Rowling has shown support, although "unofficial," since they do not have any sort of correspondence or written agreement. Thus, her friendly toleration of his fan site may jeopardize her defense since it could be argued she indirectly authorized him to create a new version of her work--the Web site, and now, the compilation. It seems he has a plausible argument.

However, I believe that a fan Web site built for fun is different than publishing a book for profit as Vander Ark is attempting to do, and therefore infringes on Rowling's derivative rights in her work.

What do you think?

Scent of stray thoughts

The other night I stopped with my youngest son at Zio Johno's, an Italian place with fabulous food and warm atmosphere. While we waited for our bagged order, an older gentleman entered, ordered food, and walked past us to seat himself on one of the wooden chairs under the beautiful mural of an Italian canal.

An invisible but unmistakable trail of thrift-store odor wafted behind him. Not body-odor (which is unbearable and, let's be honest, should not be allowed in public places!), but no, this was the distinct all-world smell prevalent in Salvation Army Thrift Stores, Goodwill Stores, and Value Village Stores stretching across America. (I tell you this at risk of revealing that I've shopped in these stores. There, now you know.)

But at that moment, I wondered about this universal scent that inhabits these stores; this scent had escaped and followed this man like the dust behind the Peanuts character, Pig-Pen. (PEANUTS © 2005, United Feature Syndicate, Inc.)

My thoughts careened off in their own directions: Is it possible that all those used clothing items housed together results in a blended smell? If so, is this the smell of humanity? Curious thought.

Or--recalling an unpleasant smell we once detected in our family room until we traced it to the narcissus plant that finally bloomed during the holidays (which suddenly smelled heavenly only because we knew the source; a lesson in the irony of perspective!)--I wondered, was the man simply wearing a particular cologne that I had mistaken for the scent of thrift store?

If so, what cologne could it be? What colognes do I know? Old Spice? Grandpa Swenson wore Old Spice. I think Daddy did, too--once or twice. Can I remember what it smells like? No.

Back to the original thought track: is the man wearing cologne or is it the smell of thrift store clothing, clean except for the slight olfactory trace in the fabric? Does an "Eau de Goodwill" exist for sale to men?

No, of course not. Silly me.

Good for him for saving money and being frugal by shopping second-hand. Maybe it's just that he wore his new duds to make a quick run to the spaghetti restaurant to pick up dinner.

Like us--now wafting smells of tomato sauce and italian spices and warm garlic bread in our wakes.

Parting is such sweet sorrow!

I pulled up to my favorite place in Iowa, a place that reminded me of Seattle and the funky coffee places where writers can retreat and muse, and--shock of shocks!--it was closed, in the middle of a sunny afternoon. Brown paper covered the windows. A yellow notice in the glass door announced the death--er, closure--of Java Creek Café.

Behind that brown paper I could still see, in my mind's eye, the sophisticated counter and savvy menu board, the cool lighting, the friendly barristas, and around the corner the cozy fireplace serving as host to six stuffed sidechairs and a coffee table bearing quirky books. I could smell the mocha and strawberry syrups, the warmth of crumbly oversized muffins and scones, the cool cucumbers in garden paninis. Augh! Gone, all gone!

I swallowed. How could this be?

Funny how important things like the Midwest floods, the upcoming elections, and recent reports of record-setting foreclosures didn't make my blog, but this--the closing of my safe haven--did.

Ah, but perhaps that's why. In times uncertain, we long for places of comfort. Java Creek Café was such a place.

Java Creek Café and staff, I thank you for being a place of comfort to lunch with good friends, to share a manuscript with a reading partner, and to buy the best mocha strawberry latté in the region. I'm glad I bought your shirt, because I'll always be a "Creek Freak."

Thanks for the safe haven and the many warm memories.

Aw, shucks

The Journalism and Mass Communication department honored me with the Harry S. Bunker Memorial scholarship at the University of Iowa's annual "Fourth Estate Banquet" in April. I am thrilled! Here's the UI press announcement if you'd like to share my joy. Scroll down to "Washington" since recipients are listed by hometown.

Tragedy at Virginia Tech

Read my post about the questions I asked after the shootings at Virginia Tech, posted at MyNewsMuse. It's not what you expect.

Jesus

Some of you know that I returned to college, working toward a BA in journalism and English at the University of Iowa. This experience deserves a blog itself, but today I'm struck by a conversation with a grad student in my editing class this week.

Sitting across from me before class, he read a headline aloud from his laptop accessing the news wirelessly: "How Would Jesus Pastor?"

Intrigued, I said the article sounded like something that should be required reading for all seminary students. The grad student looked surprised, but claimed that Jesus was intolerant. I countered by explaining that Jesus was actually a rebel in his day, and in fact, the religious leaders of his day hated him. The grad student didn't absorb this and exlaimed, "Jesus taught all this about 'love your neighbor' but then if you didn't agree with him," (made a sound of ripping) "he cut you off."

Our professor, overhearing the discussion, offered that he was more bothered by the God of the Old Testament who was the intolerant one. The grad student, on a roll, claimed--with a lot of boisterous cynicism and good humor--that God doesn't care what happens here at all, that God doesn't love anyone. To this I quietly replied, "So that's why He sent Jesus." Then class was called to order.

Today is Good Friday. It's the day to remember how Jesus was crucified. In two days, it is Easter ("Resurrection Sunday"). But for now, let's remember two important facts:

1. The phrase, "Love your neighbor as yourself," is incomplete and is commonly taken out of context. Jesus actually said: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength, AND love your neighbor as yourself." (Two commands, instead of the ten commandments or a zillion man-made laws.)

2. And for those who say God doesn't care? "For God so LOVED the world, that He gave His Only Son...." (John 3:16)

Happy Easter.

Christmas--from Wii to We

Last weekend my husband and I joined the ranks of insane people who sit in camping chairs outside a retail store in the bitterly cold wee hours of pre-dawn hoping to get a Nintendo Wii system for our boys for Christmas. Yes. We did. Although we both wore thermal under layers of clothing, bone-chilling winter seeped through our coats and gloves and scarves. I pitied the lumps inside sleeping bags lying on concrete at the head of the line near the doorway, until I realized they were guaranteed a Wii. We were not.

We came prepared to pass the time with my laptop and a Christmas DVD, but instead, we found enjoyable conversation with the rag tag team around us, those who shared our mission. Even the DS Lite mom was welcome. (Actually, we were grateful because she wasn't trying to get a Wii system like the rest of us.) And the teen next to us, poor guy, got stuck joking with parents instead of the younger crowd closer to the door who'd spent the night. But the comraderie was infectious as the sky finally lightened.

At long last a Best Buy employee came out with a clipboard. After a cursory announcement, he handed out tickets for the 21 Wii game systems secured under lock and key inside the dark recesses of the store--and ran out of tickets just one lady away from Russ an I. Argh. Time for Plan B: a printout of a Wii console from the Internet with a note, "Your after-Christmas gift" along with a photo of us huddled in the line in front of Best Buy with a note, "We tried."

Although disappointed at our failure to snag a Wii before Christmas, our mission was made pleasant by friendly strangers. Author Charles Dickens wrote:

"I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people . . . as if they really were fellow passengers . . . and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."

From Wii to "we." It's not about the gifts. It's about how we treat each other.

Merry Christmas, fellow passengers.

Don't read this (it might warp you)

When my Honors English professor announced last week that we must watch Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, for discussion in class next week, my heart sank. I posted my response on the class blog, and then decided to share it here, too.

Borat on YouTube was enough for me to "get it." But when the movie became an assignment, I did some research. (If you don't know about this movie, read a conservative review at PluggedInOnline.)

And I chose not to go. So what if it's meant to be funny? Just reading the reviews felt like sliding through sewer sludge. Blech. I have better things to do with my time and money, not to mention my mind. Life is too short.

I think I've hit on a new slogan: "BE BETTER THAN BORAT." How? One of the best ways to influence people's biases isn't to make fun of them, but befriend them (if they'll let you)--or do something kind for someone else to make our world a better place. So what if unselfish acts don't make the news or earn lots of moolah--what a difference it makes for those to whom we are kind or generous or supportive.

As for lawsuits, I just read an article about the villagers used in the opening scene of the movie: "They claim film-makers lied to them about the true nature of the project, which they believed would be a documentary about their hardship, rather than a comedy mocking their poverty and isolation."
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?
in_article_id=415871&in_page_id=1770

Okay, so let's Be Better Than Borat. Who did you help--or befriend, or encourage, or be kind to--today?

.

My friend Shannon

I met Shannon at a church picnic. Balancing paper plates and soft drinks in our hands, we happened to sit at the same picnic table. The first moments filled with the usual quick niceties, the forgettable things you say to a stranger.

Then, somehow, we both mentioned something startling--I'm a writer, one of us said. Me too, the other replied.

What do you like to write? I asked, which I find myself asking casually when someone says they're a writer. Lots of different things, Shannon said. She continued, I was involved in a writers group a few years ago, but would love to be in one now..... What was she saying? Me too! I exclaimed.

Then I took a breath. It's not uncommon to meet someone who dabbles in writing, but in talking with this lovely woman, I learned she'd put in some serious time writing, as had I. In a flash, I sensed the potential for a much greater friendship, the rare kind that allows instant communication and understanding.

Forgetting all about the chicken and potato salad on my plate, I asked breathlessly, You're a REAL writer? Yes, she said, her face lighting as if she also became aware of the meaning of this moment. Suddenly, we laughed together at the wonderful, amazing coincidence. Then we laughed at the incredible luck of finding each other. And we laughed at other similarities, like being mothers and wives and having birthdays in August. And we couldn't stop talking about writing.

So it was that Shannon and I started meeting in our own little writer's group, just the two of us (at first), laughing that we were the "blind leading the blind." Over time, our twosome became a threesome, then a group of five--a fabulous working writers' group of women with amazing talent, drive, humor, and smarts. These women brought to our monthly get-togethers a love for each other and a desire to serve God in this calling of writing.


And I believe in giving credit where credit is due. It was only after Shannon started reading and critiquing my work, along with best friend and author Joan (Rawlins Biggar) Husby, that I began to see my work published. It's thanks to them and the other amazing ladies in my cozy little writers' group that I began my serious growth as a writer. Thank you, Joan, Carolyn, Sylvia, and Shannon.

So it's with great pride and awe to see Shannon rocket into publishing. She's an incredible writer with deeply touching insights that always, always make me cry. It's not easy to write what someone is thinking, much less feeling, and her ability to pull back the veil and help me and others see truth in the light of God's word is breathtaking. I am truly honored to call Shannon Woodward my friend.

Please visit her blog for special inspiration at windscraps.blogspot.com. For an extra dose of blessing, consider getting her books as a gift for you or a friend:

A Whisper In Winter: Stories Of Hearing God's Voice In Every Season Of Life

Inconceivable: Finding Peace in the Midst of Infertility